Chapter 11 #2
Daisy had never heard anyone say “pshaw” before, though they were always doing it in books, to indicate contempt or incredulity.
Fortunately Mrs. Fletcher muttered it softly enough to allow Daisy to ignore it. “The doctor’s come already,” she said. “I don’t suppose I’ll be here much longer. ’Bye.”
She sat for a moment examining her conscience.
Of course it was mostly the “’satiable curtiosity” she shared with Kipling’s Elephant’s Child which urged her to stay, but she did feel desperately sorry for Daphne.
To lose a baby must be perfectly dreadful.
She had never really understood when Johnnie was so worried about Violet; since Vi had presented her with an adorable baby niece, she had been thinking about giving Belinda a brother or sister.
Now the whole business had become a matter of personal concern.
Yes, to lose a baby must be perfectly dreadful—whoever the father.
Perhaps because Daphne’s secret life with Lord Henry had precluded close friendships, she had chosen to confide in Daisy, although she knew Alec was a policeman.
Either Daphne was innocent of her husband’s murder, or she was confident of her ability to mislead Daisy.
Or else she was just in such a state she was quite unable to think clearly.
Whichever way Daisy looked at the situation, sympathy, curiosity, and a duty to find out what she could for Alec all led to the same course of action. She headed back to the kitchen.
“Your tea’s cold,” Mrs. Thorpe growled at her. “I’ve made another pot.”
“How kind.” Meekly Daisy sat down and drank a cup of Earl Grey, which she didn’t care for at all.
The cook was opening a package neatly wrapped in newspaper, with an inner wrap of butcher’s paper. “Them newspapermen, were it, on t’telephone?” She took out a pound of pale pink chipolata sausages.
“Don’t worry, I wouldn’t dream of telling the press anything.”
Staring at the sausages, Mrs. Thorpe turned pale and sat down suddenly.
“Ooh, I’ve come over all queer. The master liked his sausages for breakfast, well browned he liked ’em.
‘They’re best if the skins split,’ he used to tell me, ‘so’s they get a bit crispy.
’ So I wouldn’t prick ’em afore I cooked ‘em. ‘You do ‘em just the way I like ’em, Cook,’ he’d say.
Ee, he won’t be saying that to me niver again, will he? ”
“I’m afraid not.”
“What am I going to do with these here, that’s what I want to know. T‘mistress don’t care for ’em much. They’ll go off afore they get ate. I better parboil ’em.” Her queer turn apparently over, she set a pot of water on the stove to heat and started to snip apart the string of sausages.
“Mr. Talmadge was a good master, was he?” Daisy asked.
“I’ve known worse. Niffy-naffy about his food but if you did it to his liking, he’d say so. Careful of his figure, he were. No cakes and pies for him. He were getting to t’age when men start to get a bit of a belly on, if you know what I mean, madam, and he didn’t want to go that way.”
“A ladies’ man?”
“Nay, I niver said so! Don’t you go putting words in my mouth. Him and Mrs. T. had their differences, I don’t deny,
but there wasn’t never any funny business in this house and to that I’ll give my affydavy.” She stabbed viciously at the sausages with a fork. “I’m a respectable woman, I am. I wouldn’t stay at a house where there was carryings-on.”
“I’m sure you wouldn’t,” Daisy said soothingly.
“And I don’t hold wi’ murder in t’house, neither. If it wasn’t that the mistress is poorly, I’d be thinking about giving my notice.”
“Oh, don’t do that.”
“Well, I won’t. But she needn’t think I’ll put up with carryings-on in the house now t’master’s gone, lord or no lord, for I won’t, and so I’ve told Hilda.”
The pricked sausages went into the boiling water with a hiss. Daisy poured herself another cup of the pale, scented tea. If she sat here making sympathetic noises for long enough, she might learn something useful.
“If you ask me—Drat that doorbell! Back door. Who can it be? I’m not expecting no more deliveries today.”
“I’ll get it. You keep your eye on those sausages.” Standing up, Daisy saw them bobbing amid the roiling water like so many pallid sea bathers. Would she ever be able to eat sausages again?
She opened the door to Detective Sergeant Mackinnon. “Hello, Sergeant! I forgot, Alec said he’d send you over.”
“I got a message from the Chief Inspector, ma’am. They didn’t say you’d be here. Just something about …” He turned fiery red. “About … I mean … They said Mrs. Talmadge … That is …”
Daisy rescued him. “She’s not at all well. You won’t be able to talk to her.”
“Oh no!” said Mackinnon, aghast. “I wouldna dream …
I’m just supposed to make sure she doesna get in touch with Lord Henry Creighton. And just sort of generally keep an eye on things. Though I’m not quite sure what he means by that. The message wasna very clear.”
“I expect it got garbled in transmission,” said Daisy. She suspected Alec wanted the sergeant to keep an eye on her in particular rather than “things” in general, but he couldn’t very well have said so to whoever passed on the message.
“And I’m to talk to the doctor, if he’s still here.”
“He’s with her, upstairs. I expect you have to make sure she’s really having a … that what I told Alec is what’s actually going on?”
“Yes,” he said, grateful for her circumlocutions. “We have to consider the possibility that she’s faking a … pretending to be ill to avoid being questioned.”
“She’s not faking,” Daisy asserted, remembering all too clearly Daphne’s agonized face. “Apart from anything else, she’d never have persuaded Nurse Hensted to go along. They hate each other.”
“The nurse was there when … it happened?”
“Yes. It was she who realized Mrs. Talmadge was having a … what was happening. You’d better come into the hall to catch Dr. Curtis when he comes down. Oh, blast, is that the ’phone ringing again?”
“I’ll get it,” Mackinnon volunteered. “Maybe it’s the Chief Inspector. I’ll leave the door open so I see the doctor when he passes.” He headed for the front of the house.
About to turn back into the kitchen, Daisy paused as she heard him speaking to someone. A moment later, Gladys arrived.
“Oh, good, you’re still here, m’m. The doctor wants to speak to you.”
“Upstairs?”
“No, m’m, he’s just coming down. In the droring room, maybe?”
“Right-oh, tell him I’m expecting him there, Gladys.”
She went into that oddly impersonal room, a room to take pride in for entertaining, but not one to relax in.
Crossing to the French windows onto the garden, she gazed out at the ranks of flowers.
The tulips were closed against the rain, the hyacinths bowing before its onslaught, the pansies downright bedraggled.
At the sound of footsteps, she turned, as Dr. Curtis came in.
“How is Daphne, Doctor?”
“She’ll do. We saved the baby, though she’s not out of the woods yet.
” Frowning at Daisy, he took off his gold-rimmed eyeglasses and stabbed towards her with the earpiece to punctuate his words.
“If I’d known she was pregnant, I’d never have prescribed Paral.
Not that I’ve ever heard of it producing an abortion, but severe stomach cramps are not unknown.
Violent contractions of the abdomen—but any strong drug is to be avoided, especially in the early months, and when you add the horror of Talmadge’s death …
Did you know she was expecting a child?”
“I? Heavens, no! She knew, I take it?”
“She consulted a Harley Street man,” he said with a touch of resentment. “I’ll have to write up my notes and send him a copy, I suppose. Common courtesy, though she says she doesn’t intend to continue seeing him. It’s all most unfortunate, her husband dying at such a time. She ought to
have a relative to stay with her. I know she was an only child, and her parents have both passed on, but there must be someone suitable?”
“I’m sorry, I know nothing about her family. Hilda Kidd would be the one to ask.”
“She says there’s no one. But I wondered … umm …”
“Whether she just doesn’t want anyone horning in between her and Daphne? She does seem to be frightfully jealous of their relationship. You didn’t ask Daphne about relatives?”
“Not after the maid said there are none. She is not to be emotionally disturbed.” The doctor eyed Daisy with some severity.
“I’m afraid that’s a bit of a nonstarter, considering her husband was murdered yesterday!”
“Yes, well, as I said, it’s all most unfortunate.”
“The police are going to want to talk to her, if you don’t absolutely forbid it.”
“She may see your husband. I would take him to be capable of delicacy in the situation. But you should be present to make sure she doesn’t become agitated, and that she stays lying flat in bed.”
“And for propriety’s sake,” Daisy said primly, tongue in cheek.
To her surprise, Dr. Curtis gave her a wry smile. “If anyone cares for propriety in this degenerate day and age.”
“But I can’t imagine Daphne will want me there when she’s being questioned.”
“Perhaps not. At any rate, she would like to see you now. I left her quite calm but very tired, so don’t stay long. Good day, Mrs. Fletcher.” He bowed slightly and departed.
So Daphne wanted to see her? What luck! Daisy followed him out and made for the stairs.
Since the baby had been saved, she didn’t have to feel quite so sympathetic.
And according to the doctor, the mother-to-be was now calm, no longer in such a state she couldn’t think straight.
Daisy could concentrate on trying to decide whether Daphne was actually innocent of murder or just sure she’d be able to hoodwink Daisy.